Gone
by Yami no Ryu
Summary: When you sleep you are perfect, the half-moon of your dark lashes just kissing your rounded cheek. WARNING: Elricest!


The first time you kiss me is four months after I get your body back. You're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be, soft caramel hair and bronze eyes and _God please forgive me_ that _smile_. The sweet temptation of your lips is intoxicating, the scent of you addicting, and I'm drowning in you, in everything I ever wanted, in everything I ever dreamed of when you were gone and I closed my eyes and slid my hand down my stomach.

And, oh, I never wanted anything more than I want _this_. And so I let you kiss me, and touch me, and I reciprocate just to hear that breathy whimper more musical than the hymns of angels.

But even as the light of ecstasy blinds my sight I know this is wrong. A taboo, a sin; on my blackened soul one more sin means nothing, but you, little brother, you are pure, an angel not yet fallen. For every mistake I make you are the one who hurts, and I cannot bear to hurt you again. I cannot drag you down with me; I cannot damn you with my perversions. Not again.

When you sleep you are perfect, the half-moon of your dark lashes just kissing your rounded cheek. I want to sit and watch you forever, memorize the angles of your hips and the plane of your stomach, but if I do I know I will surrender to you, to myself and my own base desires. I must save you this time, before I stumble down this last step, before I soil your purity.

And so I leave.

~*~

_Al,_

_I'll call when I can._

_-Ed_

~*~

"Hey, Al, it's—"

"Brother, where are you? It's been almost a week! How could you leave like that?" The fury in your voice whips through the phone. I wince. "I woke up and you were gone! There was just a note! A note! _I'll call when I can_. Brother, how could you?"

And then the anger is gone, replaced by a heart-shattering, desperate sorrow: "Brother, how could you?"

~*~

You don't cry. I expected tears, waited anxiously, muscles sizing as if anticipating an attack, but they never came. Or at least, I never heard them over the phone.

But sometimes, at night, I look out the window and see you sobbing.

~*~

"You should get a girlfriend."

You pause, the faint static of the phone line between us, closing the long miles but somehow not bridging that last gap, not bringing us completely together.

You say, slowly, "All right, Brother." Then you hang up. As if, with no physical connection between us, I won't hear your heart breaking.

~*~

"She's really nice. I think you'd like her," you say, cheerful but somehow hesitant, as if afraid I'd disapprove even though I'd been the one to encourage you. You continue, after an awkward silence during which I don't know what to say, and your words are almost defiant, "I like her. I think I love her."

_I did the right thing, I did the right thing, I did the right thing_ clicks in endless repeat through my skull, barrier against the pain in my heart.

"It's been almost a year since we started dating, Brother, and I think…I think she's the one."

I force my voice to work. "Good for you, Al."

"Yeah," you say, and I can't read the emotion in your voice.

~*~

You look so happy staring at her, this woman I don't really know, brown hair simple and elegant under the white bridal veil, delicate features glowing while the priest recites words of blessing. I never imagined how much this could hurt.

I feel wrong, sitting in the pew, looking up at _Jesus who died for our sins_ as if there really is a God, the weight of my sins bearing down on me as never before (but to sin there must be a God, and to believe in one is to believe in the other). Because even now I want you, little brother, even as you say _I do_ and kiss her softly, with all the love that could have belonged to me. But no—I did the right thing.

You walk down the aisle, as radiant as your new wife in your happiness, and you look just the same as when I last saw you. Your eyes don't move from her, even as you pass me.

~*~

"Are you happy?"

"Yes." There's a moment, heavy, and you ask, "Are you?"

You look at me, scrutinizing, but I think my face has changed enough—I think I have changed enough—that when I say, "Yes," you don't recognize the lie.

And though I wanted you to believe, it still hurts when you do.


End file.
